


red light

by justcourbeau, uneventfulhouses



Series: where we intersect [1]
Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series), Watcher Entertainment
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, New Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:29:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23272504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justcourbeau/pseuds/justcourbeau, https://archiveofourown.org/users/uneventfulhouses/pseuds/uneventfulhouses
Summary: “Ha,” Shane huffs, not unkindly, blinking his own eyes open. “What do you want, Ry?”Ryan widens his eyes a fraction, giving Shane a blatant look.“If you can’t say ‘I would like to touch your dick, Shane’, then I cannot, in good conscience, let you touch my dick. So you have a choice to make, Bergara.”Ryan’s mouth drops open, and Shane grins, eyes sparkling, cheeks still invitingly dark.Or, Shane needs Ryan to tell him what he wants. Ryan learns by degrees.
Relationships: Ryan Bergara/Shane Madej
Series: where we intersect [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1673467
Comments: 36
Kudos: 288





	red light

**Author's Note:**

> we spiraled.
> 
> there's two more installments planned.
> 
> thanks to jess for the beta, you're a gem and a half.

It’s still pretty new, this whole thing. 

It still sort of catches him by surprise, seeing Shane first thing in the morning. The morning part is not new; Ryan has seen Shane first thing in the morning at work when there’s deadlines to meet and too much work to be done in the time remaining for them to have the luxury of rolling in at 10am. He’s seen him first thing in the morning when they have to be up at an ungodly hour in order to make a flight. He’s seen him first thing in the morning after spending a mostly sleepless night in an uncomfortable bed or on a hard, unforgiving floor for an on-location shoot. 

It’s not the time of day that trips him up, or the fact that they’re in Ryan’s kitchen—it’s the new circumstances surrounding them. It’s like seeing Shane through a new lens.

It’s seeing Shane in his soft pajama bottoms, still half asleep and soft around the edges. 

It’s seeing the same eyes squinted against the morning light, but not aimed out a car or airplane window. Instead, they’re now squinting at the brightness of Ryan’s kitchen, fingers setting the coffee maker, scooping the grinds, pouring the water. He’s not bleary eyed because Ryan spent the night elbowing him awake at the slightest creak from a dark corner; he’s bleary eyed because Ryan kept _kissing_ him, kept pulling him back in, until the very early morning hours well past their respective bedtimes. 

“How did you sleep?” Ryan asks, voice still slightly gravelly. 

“You mean after you finally got your fill of me?” Shane waggles his eyebrows. 

Ryan scoffs but bumps his forehead into Shane’s shoulder all the same, rolling his head back and glancing up to catch his eye. Shane’s hands still on the countertop. 

“But really though—first night over and all. Did my bed fuck up your back?”

“Nah. Fighting fit, baby.” Shane tips his head down and presses a kiss to Ryan’s forehead. “Don’t worry about me, I’m fine. What about you, how did you sleep?”

“You’ll never believe it,” Ryan answers, choosing to ignore the ‘baby’ and finally stepping away. “But I found Bigfoot. He was in my fucking bed this whole time.”

Shane throws his head back to guffaw before flipping the coffee machine lid shut and hitting the button to make it go.

“Is his mating call exactly like I said it would be?”

“Not at all, actually.”

 _“Oh?_ What’s it like, then?”

“It goes,” Ryan starts, putting a pensive look on his face as if he’s trying to recall something particularly complicated, and making his voice breathy, “ _‘Ryan, Ryan, Ryan.’_ Who knew, hey, big guy?”

“One of these days, you’ll meet your end, Bergara.”

“As long as it’s death by Bigfoot, that’s fine by me.”

“You want to have your skull bashed in? Kinky.” Shane leans a hip against Ryan’s kitchen counter and quirks his brow pointedly. 

Ryan feels the blush start at that, ducking away to rummage around for bread. He can also feel Shane’s eyes following his movements, and again, it's one of those new things, but Ryan likes it. More… more than he thought he would.

Once he’s dropped two pieces of bread into the toaster, he pauses to look up at Shane again, taking in the casually comfortable line of him, silhouetted by the bright sunshine from outside. “What?”

Shane grins. “I just find your pink-cheek moments to be incredibly endearing, that’s all.”

“Sadist,” Ryan mutters.

Something in Ryan’s gut flips at Shane’s darkening expression, but in light of his confession, Ryan doesn’t look away this time. Instead, he holds firm, part challenge, part admiration, part aspiration. Shane is so honest and upfront about things, everything, that Ryan sometimes feels like it would be impossible to match his level of openness. 

The coffeemaker hisses as the first drops of bean water drip into the heated carafe, but neither of them moves until Ryan says, “Come here.”

Shane moves into his space slowly, much like how the sun had crept into the bedroom this morning, spilling all over their lines and edges, and exposing this whole relationship shift to the plain light of day. Ryan reaches, lets Shane cage him in against the counter, pulling him down to plant a kiss on his lips. Shane goes easy, breath warm on Ryan’s skin when he refuses to let go. 

When Shane’s hand lands on Ryan’s neck, fingers at his nape, Ryan gets a burst memory from the night before. Getting under the covers with Shane, pulling him closer in the dark, hot breaths between kissing, and the unforgettably new sensation of Shane’s hand under his pajama shirt, trailing up up up, over his muscles, around his rib cage. 

It’s then that Ryan realizes he wants to use the daylight to watch Shane do all those things again, wants to see Shane’s big hands slide over his skin, wants to watch with a little bit of wonder as the touch of his work colleague makes his stomach jump and quiver. Ryan pulls at him, hoping Shane will get the picture and press in against Ryan, but frustratingly, Shane is slow to inch closer. 

Ryan makes an exasperated noise and feels Shane’s answering smile on his lips. 

“Shane,” Ryan says, successfully getting a hand on Shane’s lower back to help the process along. This time, Shane goes, and Ryan really hopes that the trend continues, because he wants—

“Ryan,” Shane mirrors, mockingly, but he leans in again all the same, taking Ryan’s face in both hands. Ryan melts, opening his mouth to Shane’s kiss and basking in the feeling of Shane’s body so encroaching around him, so in his space, so in his _warmth._

The toast pops. 

Instead of letting Shane pull away, instead of stopping, Ryan grips a fistful of Shane’s t-shirt between their bellies, and gets his other hand under the fabric. This isn’t a first, but Ryan hopes they can go one—or seven—steps further than they did last night, and he’s eager to round the bases they’ve already visited. Ryan feels the shaking jolt under his fingertips, Shane's reaction to his touch.

Shane hums into their kiss and Ryan takes that as a sign that he’s on the right track. With Shane's arms tight around him, Ryan gets his palm on Shane’s chest, dragging down lightly, slowing around his navel and lingering for a few breaths before inching downward again. 

Shane angles his head more, leans over Ryan more, tips his head back more firmly, and Ryan’s blood is singing in his veins, skittering happily like the sun on running water. 

Ryan’s fingertips graze the warm skin of Shane’s lower tummy before encountering the waistband of his sleep pants. Shane keeps kissing him, almost fiercely, until Ryan’s fingertips skim along under the edge, searching for unexplored territory. 

Shane pulls his lips back, leaning his forehead against Ryan’s instead, breathing heavily. Ryan’s breathing just as hard, so he tries his luck, blinking his eyes open to watch Shane's face. He wiggles a little lower and Shane’s breath catches, eyelashes fluttering. Ryan wants to roll around in the feeling of being able to make Shane Madej come to a complete stop, wants to wrap himself in the all encompassing heat blooming across Shane’s cheeks.

“Ryan,” he gasps when the moment slides by, back to breathing deeply. Ryan can feel the beginnings of Shane starting to pull away, and it’s the last thing he wants. 

“Shane,” Ryan answers, tone taking on just a tad too much whine for his preference. 

“Ha,” Shane huffs, not unkindly, blinking his own eyes open. “What do you want, Ry?”

Ryan widens his eyes a fraction, giving Shane a blatant look.

“If you can’t say ‘I would like to touch your dick, Shane’, then I cannot, in good conscience, let you touch my dick. So you have a choice to make, Bergara.”

Ryan’s mouth drops open, and Shane grins, eyes sparkling, cheeks still invitingly dark. He squeezes Ryan’s shoulders one last time before stepping back, adjusting his bottoms. Ryan just watches as Shane goes over to the toaster, popping the bread down again to reheat it and grabbing two mugs down from the cabinet. Ryan tries to shake the too-full feeling from his head, tries to ignore the hardness in his own pajama pants, tries to reel everything back in, and all the while, Shane goes about slathering hot toast in jam and doctoring their coffees quietly.

“None of this is embarrassing, you know,” Shane says as he turns, waving his hand around between them. “Nothing you say here is, like, shameful. Nothing you want is embarrassing, Ry.”

“I—” Ryan starts, finding out very quickly that he doesn’t know what comes after that.

Shane fixes him with a soft look, little grin still peeking through as he brushes by with hands full. “Can you bring the mugs?”

Ryan does, following him to the kitchen table and watching Shane settle so easily on the other side, stretching his legs out and sighing happily as his first sip of coffee. 

“Why are you like this?” Ryan huffs, taking a large bite of toast and chewing, surveying Shane with an expression he hopes is unreadable. 

“It’s okay, little guy. Take your time.”

Shane is right there for the rest of the morning, finishing breakfast, lazing on the couch, before leaving to go tend to Obi and errands, his parting gift another deep, smouldering kiss.

Ryan still doesn’t have words for him, even as Shane presses him into the front door, even as he registers the desire to have Shane around, closer, always.

-:-

The movie is really only playing in the background as Ryan scrolls through his phone, laying across Shane’s couch with his feet on Shane’s lap. Shane’s actually watching it; Ryan can tell when something interesting happens when Shane’s fingers curled around his ankle tighten just a little. It coaxes Ryan to look at the screen, then at Shane, before his attention slips back down to his phone. 

When the credits roll, Shane drags his hand up Ryan’s shin, stopping right at his knee, and Ryan looks up, catching Shane’s eyes. 

“Can I help you?” Ryan asks, smiling, though he puts down his phone, an invitation of sorts.

“Possibly,” Shane says, crawling over the couch until he’s hovering over Ryan’s body, palms pressed into the cushions on either side of Ryan’s head. Ryan grins up at him. 

“Did you like your movie?” Ryan settles his hands over Shane’s ribs, the fabric of his shirt soft against Ryan’s fingers. Shane lowers himself and Ryan makes a space for him between his thighs, forearms bracketing Ryan’s shoulders. Ryan hooks his feet on the inside of Shane’s knees. 

“I did.” Shane leans in and Ryan’s heart tips over, starts to thrum against his sternum as Shane noses along his cheek, his jaw. A slow flood of heat drips underneath his skin as Ryan slides his hands over Shane’s back, pulling him down closer. Shane is heavy over him, on top of him, but it’s something Ryan adores, when they’re pressed this close because they want to be.

“Thoughts?” Ryan inhales, sharp and short, and his eyes flutter closed as Shane’s mouth presses hot against his neck, the scruff of Shane’s cheeks sparking heat, making him shiver. Shane doesn’t answer him, and that’s perfectly fine. 

With one hand, Shane touches his face and Ryan meets him in a soft kiss. It’s slow, the simple press and pull of their lips between hushed breathing. Ryan runs his fingers through Shane’s hair, settling his fingers at his nape, letting Shane lead him into something deeper that steals his breath altogether. 

Shane kisses lazily, taking his time, nipping Ryan’s bottom lip which sends a delightful little thrill of arousal to curl right at the base of his spine. Ryan bunches Shane’s shirt with his fingers, keeping Shane pressed against him when he rolls his hips up. Shane hums into his mouth and Ryan chases the sound with another roll of his hips, a dirtier kiss, sucking on Shane’s tongue. Ryan can feel the rumble of his groan against his chest. 

“ _Ryan_ , Jesus,” Shane mumbles, but he goes back in for another kiss, licking into Ryan’s mouth. Ryan reaches to take Shane’s hand away from his cheek, setting it high on his thigh, and Shane squeezes, but he doesn’t move it. Ryan feels unsettled, gripping his fingers into Shane’s shoulder, his other hand still bunched in Shane’s tee. He wants something more, something much more raw, to undress Shane from his clothes and touch his palms to hot, naked skin.

Sighing, Ryan rolls his hips up again, and this time, Shane meets him, breaking the kiss just to breathe against Ryan’s mouth. Ryan’s eyes flicker open to see the furrow of Shane’s brow, the wet part of his lips. It’s rudely, wildly attractive, and Ryan wants to see more of it, wants to see the vulnerability cross Shane’s features when they’re properly in it. 

Except, instead of saying anything, Ryan spreads his bunched fingers low on Shane’s back, keeping him close as they shift against each other. Shane ducks his head and kisses over Ryan’s neck, daring to bite, using his teeth and tongue to suck a tender bruise. With his hand still on Ryan’s thigh, Shane hooks his other arm underneath Ryan’s shoulder. 

“Shane,” Ryan moans, and Shane pulls back, and he’s looking down with glittering eyes when Ryan looks up at him. 

“What is it that you want, Ryan? Have you actually thought about it?” Shane asks him, licking his lips. He gives a kiss to Ryan’s cheek, along his jawline.

Ryan nods, slipping fingers hot underneath Shane’s shirt, his other hand keeping hold at the back of Shane’s neck. “Yeah.” 

“You gonna tell me?” Shane’s voice is muffled. Ryan doesn’t know what to say, how to put in words that he wants what they’re doing now but more, that he wants to wiggle out of his jeans and get Shane out of his, and press properly together, so there isn’t anything between them but precome and sweat. 

Again, Ryan says nothing, just lets Shane kiss him, lifting his hips to grind _hard_ against Shane, feel the hard line of his cock against him. 

“Use your words, baby,” Shane coaxes, lips against his mouth. “Tell me what you want.” 

“Just—you know—please?” 

Shane sighs heavily, and finds Ryan’s hands with his own, circling his fingers around Ryan’s wrists as he pins them to the couch on either side of Ryan’s head. Ryan keens, arching his back, curling his toes. 

“Yes,” Ryan whispers, but nothing else happens, and when he looks up at Shane, Shane’s watching him with careful, guarded eyes. “What?” 

“Just hang on a sec,” Shane says, keeping his hold on Ryan’s wrists. After a handful of breaths, Ryan’s heart is still beating so hard, but Shane lets him go and untangles himself from Ryan, despite Ryan tugging at him. He kneels between Ryan’s ankles, his hands on his thighs. Ryan presses his toes into the side of Shane’s knees.

“Shane—” 

“Ryan.” 

“Why won’t you just put your hands where you want?” Ryan says, drawing his legs up to his chest, frustrated and hard. 

“Why don’t you tell me where you want me to put my hands? It’s that easy, Ryan. All you have to do is tell me how you want me to touch you, and I’m game as hell.” 

Ryan falls back against the couch, pouting up at the ceiling. 

“I’m not stopping cause I want to, Ry. I’m stopping cause I need to be sure you know what you want. Which means using words to tell me.”

“I feel like—I feel like you know what I want and—” Ryan rolls his eyes. “It doesn’t have to be this difficult, Shane.” 

Shane hums. “If you can’t say it out loud—” 

“Oh, my God.”

“—then you’re probably not ready for it. And the last thing I want is to be an involved party in something you regret doing.” 

“I’m not going to regret it.” 

“I’m not chancing it, Ry. I can be patient and wait.” 

Ryan doesn’t want to wait, but still, even then, when he looks at Shane, sitting across from him, he finds that he can’t quite string the words together, can’t formulate his thoughts into words. Part of him just wants to scream, but he just sits there, quiet. 

“This is dumb,” Ryan mutters. 

Shane shrugs, running his hand through his hair. “I’m gonna go shower.” 

Ryan’s instinct is to just say, _I can take care of it for you_ , except he opens his mouth and—

Sighs. 

Shane takes that as an answer, and gets up from the couch, leaving Ryan alone in the living room. 

And even then, Ryan’s too frustrated to jerk himself off. 

-:-

It’s half past midnight and Ryan can’t sleep. He’s thinking about Shane—which isn’t anything new, but right now, there’s an itch under his skin he desperately needs scratched. Shane’s been so incredibly patient with him and he’s starting to feel a little bit like a jerk. 

Nothing happens between them aside from hot kisses, just a quick taste of what he could have when Shane grinds into them. And then the conversation looms and Shane looks at him, with eyes so trusting, so patient—Ryan knows he needs to figure himself out. 

These words aren’t difficult. He could have Shane’s hands on his body, could have Shane’s mouth on his chest, on his hips, between his thighs—he just has to _ask_. 

There’s no rhyme or reason why he can’t say it. He doesn't even know what’s stopping him, what he’s worried about. If there’s anyone he trusts his body with, it’s Shane. He knows Shane would be attentive, would use his hands with care, deft fingers as they traipse across his body. He knows this. 

It’s half past midnight on a Thursday and he gets out of bed, puts on his shoes and grabs his phone and his keys, because he’s over himself, over obstructing his own sexual pleasure because of hang ups he doesn’t want. 

The drive over to Shane’s has him whispering to himself in the car, the music turned low so he can hear himself say the words Shane wants to hear. He practices them, tastes them, normalizes them. It’s twenty minutes of him confessing to himself all the things he wants Shane to do to him. 

The elevator is working just fine, but Ryan needs the extra few minutes to psych himself up, to give himself the confidence to do this. 

He finds himself at Shane’s door before he thinks he’s ready, and yet, he lifts his hand to knock, heavily, and he leans against the wall and waits. 

A minute or two passes and Ryan lifts his hand again, but the door opens, and Shane is standing there, bleary-eyed and sleep soft.

“Ry?”

“Hey, are you busy? I wanna run something by you,” Ryan says. 

Shane blinks at him. “I was sleeping, but—” 

Ryan pushes his glasses up his nose and sucks in a breath. “I really wanna bone you, man.” 

Shane laughs, bright and surprised, and Ryan feels weightless, a rush of freedom. He pushes past Shane and walks inside. Shane closes the door behind him and Ryan just—

“I want it all,” he says, looking at Shane. Shane’s eyebrows fly up and Ryan watches him pick up Obi into his arms, carrying him like the spoiled baby he is.

“Ryan—” 

“Wait, I just—I need to say all of it. Blanket permission from the get go. Because if you ever stop me before I come again, I might throttle you.” 

Shane snickers and Ryan grins. 

“I wanna touch your dick, and like—want you to touch _my_ dick. I want your dick in my mouth. Fuck—I even—like, I want you inside me. How do you feel about shower sex? Cause I want that, too. On the couch, on the floor, in your bed, I want you everywhere. I just want you to touch me until I can’t _breathe_. I—” 

“Baby,” Shane says, smiling, “slow down.” 

“I _can’t_. Did I miss something?” 

There’s a softness in Shane’s features that Ryan is both familiar and unfamiliar with. But it strikes something hot in Ryan’s chest, and Ryan doesn’t know what to do. He lets himself stand there and be adored underneath the heaviness of Shane’s gaze. 

“What?” Ryan says, feeling fire in his cheeks, too warm in the moment. 

Shane shrugs. “I love you.” 

Ryan bites down on his lip and shoves his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” Shane lets Obi jump out of his arms and he skitters away and Shane walks into Ryan’s space, hands pressing hot into Ryan’s waist, and he dips to kiss Ryan. Ryan curls his arms around Shane’s neck, leaning into Shane, pressing against him. 

“I love you, too,” Ryan mumbles against Shane’s lips. 

It’s not the first time they’ve said so by any means. Their confessions revolved around compartmentalized feelings hidden throughout the years. They’ve always been a little bit in love with each other. But even then, hearing Shane say it so sincerely, so fondly, so much like a fact, Ryan feels like his heart is too big for his chest. 

“I’m too tired to actually fuck you tonight,” Shane says, “but I’ll blow you in the morning if you come to bed.” 

Ryan threads his fingers through Shane’s hair, wiggling his hips against Shane’s. “I’ll take it, dude.” Ryan leans up for another kiss and Shane gives it to him, slow and languid and tired. Ryan shifts his arms underneath Shane’s, dragging his hands down Shane’s back and presses them at the bottom of Shane’s spine. When Shane dips to kiss at Ryan’s neck, Ryan drops one hand, underneath the waistband of Shane’s sleep pants to grab at his ass. 

“Jesus, Ryan,” Shane breathes against his neck, laughing. 

Ryan sneezes, and Shane makes a disgruntled noise. 

“Sexy,” he says, and Ryan shrugs. 

“You know what you signed up for,” Ryan reminds him. 

“I do.” When Shane looks at him again, it’s with those soft eyes and that smirk of a smile and Ryan feels his heart leap and swoop and heat bleeds into his chest. Ryan can’t take all of the emotion all over Shane’s face, so he hides his face in Shane’s chest. 

And sneezes again. 

“Come on, I’ll get you some Claritin and change my clothes. You go to bed,” Shane says, and Ryan looks up, and feels too gooey with emotion. But he sneezes again and disentangles himself from Shane, peeling off his hoodie and kicking off his shoes on his way to the bedroom. He doesn’t bother redressing in Shane’s clothing, just lays on his side of the bed in the sleep pants he came over with. 

Shane comes in, careful not to let Obi trail in after him as he closes the door. 

Two pills and half a glass of water later, Ryan drapes himself over Shane’s chest, and lets the warmth of Shane’s body pull him into sleep. 

-:-

The next morning is a lot like that first morning, soft and slow and golden-hued, except this time they wake up in Shane’s room, not Ryan’s. This time there’s the gentle _scratch-scratch-scratch_ at the bedroom door, and Shane extricates himself from Ryan’s tangle of limbs slowly, careful not to jar him awake. Ryan’s barely lucid, but he curls into the newly opened space so Shane knows he’s somewhat present.

“Be back in a sec,” Shane whispers, and Ryan hums in response. 

Time moves oddly in the following minutes, in fits and starts. Ryan hears the indistinct whispers of Shane conversing with his cat while he goes about feeding him. He hears the bathroom door click quietly shut, the running of water. 

Shane does come back to bed, and Ryan moves over again without complaint to let him settle back into the mattress. As soon as he’s stilled, Ryan rolls closer, draping himself over one half of Shane’s long body, hooking his leg over Shane’s thigh and pushing his face into his chest with a snuffle.

The sound of the traffic outside is like white noise, pillowing them in and carrying them along for another few quiet minutes of contentment. When Ryan feels like his consciousness might be warmed up enough to talk, he shifts to look up at Shane’s face, already angled down and watching him quietly. 

“So I held up my end of the agreement,” he starts, and Shane scoffs.

 _“Agreement?_ There was no agreement. There were Terms and Conditions,” he counters. 

“Which I fulfilled,” Ryan argues with a slow smile, still half-smushed into Shane’s chest.

“That you did.”

“No joke about ‘fulfilled’?”

“I thought we agreed we’re working up to it.”

“So work up to it already,” Ryan prompts, grinding his hips against Shane gently, as if he might be confused as to what Ryan is referring to. Shane gives him a look as if to say “welp, you’re not wrong” before gripping Ryan’s hip firmly and pushing him back until he’s flat on the mattress with Shane towering over him, propped up on his elbow.

Shane copies Ryan’s earlier movement, throwing his leg over Ryan’s and settling some of his weight against his side. They come together again, lips slanting just right over each other until they find a rhythm that burns through Ryan like ticker tape going up in flames. Shane nudges Ryan’s head to the side, trailing kisses off down his jaw while his fingers skate over Ryan’s still-clothed stomach. 

“What do you want?” Shane asks, breath hot on Ryan’s neck as he mouths down the length of it. Ryan arches his back and gives Shane more room to work.

“I told you last night, didn’t I? I told you, I want everything.” Ryan gasps when Shane’s teeth scrape against his shoulder, biting down just hard enough to elicit a groan.

“You told me a bunch of things last night, yes, which we’ll have to stagger in order to not dehydrate ourselves too severely. Can you imagine? Hello? 911, we fucked too hard and now we can’t get our own water, please send a flat of Dasani. And Taco Bell.”

Ryan ignores the joke, even though his shoulders shake. “What is with you and making me spell it out?” he counters seriously. Shane pulls back for a minute, just enough to get Ryan’s face in his sights.

“It’s about consent, but it’s also about you knowing what it is you want, specifically. It’s for me to know what’s okay, what you actively want me to do. But also…” he trails off, pushing his hips more firmly against Ryan. “But also, say it again. For me.”

Another fragment of Shane falls into place in Ryan’s mind, one _he didn’t know_ he didn’t know about, but it’s slow and dark like molasses settling into the dips and divots of his imagination. His mental picture of Shane is growing clearer by the day, but at this new piece, Ryan feels like he needs to step back and let it all come into focus.

“What do _you_ want?” Ryan asks.

“I want you to tell me what you want the second it pops into your head without letting your mouth filter it first. That’s what I want. You know, that never seems to be a problem with the shit you say on set,” Shane ribs, fingernails scratching down over the fabric of Ryan’s t-shirt again. 

“Shut up, Shane.” Ryan rolls his hips up in encouragement, but the time has well and truly come to reiterate, starting with the simplest request of them all. “Please touch me.”

“See, it’s not that hard,” Shane comments before sliding his fingers lower and lower, and laughing a little. “Well, that's not entirely true, obviously.”

Ryan _would_ snark out a comeback, but Shane steals his ability to use his vocal chords by pressing his palm over Ryan firmly, the first time there’s been direct hand-to-dick contact between them. Shane’s fingers curl around him, and he squeezes. 

Ryan bows off the bed, unable to stop the strangled groan that slips from low in his throat. Shane’s hand pauses, his eyes flickering back up to Ryan, and Ryan nearly combusts.

He caves with a pained sigh. “Do that again.”

True to his word, Shane squeezes, moving his hand this time, pumping Ryan gently through the fabric of his loose sleep pants. Just when Ryan starts panting, hips twitching, Shane pulls away again and Ryan feels the urge to yell.

Before he does, however, Shane pushes Ryan’s shirt up over his abs and pulls himself up to settle over Ryan solidly, pressing him more firmly into the mattress. Ryan’s knees automatically part to let Shane’s weight drop where he wants it most. 

Shane hooks the hem of Ryan’s shirt again, wedging it up farther, and he shimmies down to get his mouth on Ryan’s skin, licking and kissing his way in the direction that makes Ryan’s head spin and spin and spin. Shane, the fucker, draws it all out, nipping at the gentle curve of Ryan’s tummy as he continues his descent. 

By the time Shane’s low enough for his shins to be hanging over the end of the bed, Ryan can feel his breath through his sweatpants, and he can’t think of anything else, can’t even fathom a time when he had enough space to fit multiple things into his brain.

“Please,” Ryan gasps, hands fisting in the sheets under him.

“Hmm?” Shane looks up and Ryan has to drop his head back and firmly keep himself from jerking his hips up in the direction of Shane’s face. 

“Please, I want your mouth.”

“That’s better,” Shane says, curling his fingers over Ryan’s waistband and finally _finally_ dragging it down. For all Shane’s stalling to get here, he wastes no time in getting his lips around Ryan. 

“Hnng,” is what comes out, again against Ryan’s will.

Shane’s mouth pops off him. “Is that so,” he quips.

“Don’t stop, Jesus _Christ_ , Shane, I swear to God— _ohhh,”_ is all Ryan manages before Shane is fitting him in his mouth again, tongue sweeping in a way that scrambles everything left of Ryan’s brain. “Oh _fuck,_ don’t stop.”

Shane doesn’t. He really doesn’t. 

Shane doesn’t stop when Ryan threads his fingers into his hair and tugs. He doesn’t stop when Ryan’s pelvis jumps uncontrollably. He doesn’t stop when he has Ryan panting incoherently, scraping angry red lines onto the skin of his shoulders. He doesn’t stop when Ryan rambles, breathless, “slow, go slower, yeah like that— _ungh—_ longer, please Shane.” He just follows Ryan’s requests with the level of smooth dexterity that Ryan is just not capable of at the moment. 

Ryan keeps having to look up at the ceiling, keeps having to take breaks from looking down at Shane and how he’s disappearing between Shane’s lips over and over again, keeps having to drag rattling breaths into his lungs, trying to keep his cool.

Shane doesn’t stop, even when Ryan’s thighs start to shake, even when the whole of Ryan is trembling on the edge of release. When he looks up at Ryan again, eyes bright, tips of his ears pink with satisfaction, hair pulled seven ways to Sunday, Ryan feels the telltale tingling and tightening. 

“Shane, Shane, _Shane,”_ Ryan chants, hands skipping around from Shane’s shoulders to the sheets to hovering unsure over Shane’s head again. “Shane, I’m gonna come, you’re gonna make me come.”

“Mhm,” Shane answers, mouth still full of Ryan, and he reaches up to pull Ryan’s hands down, pressing them to finally settle in his hair again.

Everything is unfocused, then, but also thrown into sharp, indelible relief. It’s a jumble of moments; the chaotic tremble of his own stomach, the almost-too-tight grip he has on Shane’s hair. It’s Shane’s moan around him, it’s balling himself up in order to fling himself over the edge of ecstasy and straight into the safety net Shane has created for him, _just_ for him. 

Ryan doesn’t realize that he’s still chanting Shane’s name, breath still mostly stolen, until he’s pulling Shane up, pulling him in for a sloppy kiss, at which point the lack of chanting becomes abundantly obvious. Ryan can taste himself in Shane’s mouth, and if he hadn’t already come, he probably would have, at that. 

Shane allows himself to be kissed thoroughly, breathing hard whenever Ryan gives him the option to. 

“Can I—” Ryan starts to ask between Shane’s increasingly desperate kisses, getting his hands on Shane’s hips and wiggling his fingers down to skim against Shane's hot flesh. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Shane pants, shaking over Ryan even low on his elbows like he is. Ryan pushes Shane’s pants down hastily and takes him in hand. “Mmm, god.”

“Mhm,” Ryan answers, elated, watching every flicker of feeling Shane’s face is giving up.

Ryan moves his hand somewhat awkwardly, but Shane hardly seems to care about the novice manner in which this particular handjob is being delivered. His attention is divided between lightning fast glances down where Ryan is gripping him, and continuing to steal Ryan’s breath straight out of his lungs with kisses drenched in a raw, painful yearning.

When Shane pulls his lips away again to chant his own mirrored string of “Ry, Ry, _Ry,”_ they bump noses and brush cheeks as Shane shivers and shudders his release, coming all over Ryan’s hand and belly, mouth open against Ryan’s in a strangled series of groans.

Shane drops down onto Ryan’s chest, sweaty and heedless of the mess between them. Ryan can't blame him one single bit. 

“I’ll move in a sec,” Shane sighs, happy and spent, against Ryan’s neck.

“It’s okay, big guy. You’re right where I want you.”

Ryan wraps an arm over Shane’s back, holding him close and listening to his breathing slow and even out, gradual and by degrees. He counts the freckles along the crest of Shane’s shoulders, sticks his nose into Shane’s hair, and breathes. 

They don’t move until the morning sun glares so insistently off Shane’s framed butterfly case that Ryan goes temporarily blind.


End file.
